A Night at the Airstream
by mayzee
Summary: Two shot episode tag that verges into AU for 6.21 Black Hearts. Lisbon comes to visit Jane after Pike's proposal. Jane's POV. Mixture of angst and fluff. Reviews, as ever, are much appreciated. Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Episode tag to 6.21 Black Hearts that verges into AU. Tried something different here as it's in the present tense and first person (Jane's POV) in this two shot. It's a bit of an experiment so please be kind. Second chapter is pretty much written so will be posted very shortly.  
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 **Title is based on one of my favourite Marx Brothers films (just because I was struggling with the title as I usually do). Don't get your hopes up, it doesn't have any of the hilarity of that classic, only the names are similar.**

 **I don't own The Mentalist or any of its characters and am making no profit from taking them for a gentle stroll through my imagination.**

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A Night at the Airstream

Chapter 1 - Arrival

I read the passage of the novel in my hands for the fourth time. But, like the three previous attempts, my parietal lobe is not playing ball tonight. It may have something to do with the subject matter. What made me select Wuthering Heights as my book of choice for the night I wish I knew. I am already punishing myself enough without reading about a brooding man's revenge and his love for a woman who marries another.

Slamming the book shut, I push it to the far side of the table in the Airstream, swap my hands for the contents and comfort of a china cup instead. I'm suddenly wistful for my turquoise teacup and close my eyes as I take pleasure in a slow sip of chamomile. I can almost imagine my fingers wrapped around its gleaming smooth surface and the smell of red brick and soft dusty leather in the air, the sound of keyboards clicking just behind my ear. My smile is interrupted by the harsh glare of headlights against my eyelids. I open my eyes and blink reflexively as I read my watch set at just after two am.

Although there is no need, I peer through a slat in the blinds to catch sight of my late night visitor. There is only one person it could be - I am not exactly known for my wide circle of friends. My heart hammers with equal parts trepidation and hope. The fact Teresa Lisbon has chosen to stop by in the middle of the night makes me believe a decision has been made of the future path she has decided to tread. As usual as of late, once more I'm assessing the odds of whether that future lies in Austin (with me) or in D.C. (with _him_ ). The late hour leads me to think it's around sixty-eight percent not in my favour. A swirl of nausea comes over me like a whirlpool in my gut.

Upon hearing the car door shut I instinctively fix the throw on the pull out bed I haven't climbed into yet, plump up the pillows. I throw the remnants of my tea down the sink and run a hand through my hair. It's impossible to stop moving, as if that'll stop my brain working. But I'm assessing all the time, my mind unable to stop running scenarios - perhaps she's here about a case and was unable to reach me on my cell due to a network being down...maybe my phone battery is dead...

A weight has settled on my chest and I draw a deep breath to rid myself of it. I analyse the approaching footsteps as they squish over dewy grass. Purposeful. I adjust the chances of the visit being case related accordingly and allow myself a small breath of relief. I know I'm most probably kidding myself but I need the hope.

Three taps come to the door as I stand in my kitchenette. I calculate how long it would take me to answer if I were lying in bed asleep then roll my eyes. Am I so incapable of an honest moment even with something so trivial? Or am I merely attempting to delay the decision about to be laid at my door for a few more seconds? It reminds me of Schrödinger's cat - as long as I don't answer the door then she is not leaving me.

I move quickly and grab the handle before I theorise any further.

Any hope her visit is due to phone problems is quashed immediately when I see her face. Her emeralds lock on me, expression taught and shoulders tense. When she swallows thickly my last vestiges of optimism are eradicated. Slivers of pain snake through to every nerve ending.

I speak, surprised at the normality of my tone, and wonder how it's possible to talk so coherently when one's heart is concurrently shattering into tiny pieces. My long years of affecting my behaviour have once more been useful in conveying nothing that I do not wish to be seen. "Lisbon, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

She's embarrassed and her eyes stray to my largely unkempt appearance. My shirt in untucked and open to the top of my chest, my shoes are discarded, I have two day stubble. "Jane...I'm-I'm sorry. It's the middle of the night, I know. Were you asleep?"

I admit to a half truth with a smile. "Just reading. Come in."

She stands awkwardly in the small area beside the door as I lock it behind her. I can sense her look around for a place to set her purse. "Just put it anywhere," I say as I turn around. She places it on the passenger seat at the front then removes her leather jacket and piles it on top. Whatever this conversation entails requires more than a few seconds of our time. She turns the sleeves up of the cream blouse she wears to her elbows and she reminds me of a pint sized gladiator preparing for battle. Wisely, I keep this to myself.

For a moment we look at each other as her tongue troubles her upper lip. "So?" I eventually say, moving to fill the kettle to give my hands something to do other than shake.

"Sorry for coming over so late. I should have called first."

I nod and busy myself with tea making. "You know I don't sleep much. It's no problem." I take a breath as I remove the milk from the fridge. "I take it this isn't related to work."

"No."

She says the word with so little intonation I wish I didn't have my back to her so I could read her face. On second thoughts, perhaps it's better I cannot.

"Please, take a seat at the table," I tell her. "I'll bring the drinks."

She has picked up my copy of Wuthering Heights and is flicking through it as I arrive back with two steaming cups of green tea. The chamomile needs a counterbalance. "I never liked this book much," she says, screwing up her face. "If only they'd just talked to each other properly."

I raise an eyebrow, unsure if she's being deliberate in her choice of words. "Hmm," I agree. "Would have made for a much shorter and less dramatic book, though, if they had."

She smiles then notices the hue of the tea I've given her and makes another face. "Yeah, guess so."

I come to sit beside her and she shifts closer towards the window. "Sorry, not much room."

"It's fine," she shrugs. She takes a cautious sip and licks her lips.

She doesn't like the tea but she says nothing, too preoccupied with what she came here to say. She's also wondering why I haven't pushed for the reason for her visit. I can practically feel the question radiate off her. I decide to take the bull by the horns instead as it's obvious how difficult it is for her to say the words.

"You've decided to go to D.C., then," I state, before taking a fortifying long sip of tea.

She doesn't respond and I turn my head towards her. She nods quickly and purses her lips into a thin line.

I smile and I hope it's reassuring. "You're doing the right thing."

She blinks and I see a spark of hurt. "You think so?"

"If it's what you want and it makes you happy then I want that for you too." I truly mean and believe the words but saying them out loud is accompanied by a sharp pain in my gut.

She places her cup back on the table. "How do I know if it's really the right thing, though?" she says so quietly I can barely hear her.

I'm longing to tell her that if she has any doubts then she should not go. I almost do.

She speaks first. "I even started writing one of those pros and cons lists."

"Practical if not exactly on the romantic side," I quip. "And what were your findings?"

"Fifty-fifty," she states much too quickly.

"I highly doubt that."

She's wrapped her hands around her cup and looks at me. It becomes a stare. "You know there's only one reason for me to stay here, Jane. It's not about checking items off a list or comparing them. It was a stupid idea as not everything on the list has the same importance as everything else on the opposite side."

 _Or someone else_ she leaves unsaid.

A whoosh of emotion surges through me and I open my mouth as if it needs to be expelled. She was right about surprising me one day. "I-I'm not sure what you want me to say to that, Lisbon."

She fixes me with the same determination I've seen on her many times before when she's interrogated murderers. "It's not about what I want you to say, Jane."

"I've told you-"

"You've told me you want me to be happy. You've asked me what _I_ want. You haven't told me what _you_ want me to _do_."

"It's not my place to tell you what to do. And you already know what I want, in any case." As much as I want her to stay I can't have her doing it because of some long standing obligation she feels towards me.

"How do I know when you won't tell me?"

I sigh and shake my head. "You know the last thing I want is for you to leave, Teresa. But it has to be your decision, not mine."

She sighs and her shoulders slump as she nods. "Yeah, I-I know. You're right, of course. I'm just...I just don't want to lose you again."

She pins a lock of hair behind her ear and her fingers caress her cross. It almost sounds like she's experienced my death already. I had no idea until now the toll those two years apart took on her or just how much she missed me. Is it wrong that my soul sings a little upon witnessing that revelation?

"You won't," I tell her as we lock eyes. "I'll visit...I'll write, we'll talk on the phone...we did two years with barely any contact. We can make do with just a few hours away by plane."

Tears threaten as I imagine that future. I'd do it, of course. I'd live for those visits, for those calls. Even if I had to put up with Pike hovering around in the background as a third wheel. I try to ignore the part of my brain that tells me that I'd be the third wheel, not him. It'd be better than the abyss I'm facing without her at all.

But I also know it's not nearly enough to make a friendship work long term and that we'd lose what we have now in time as her priorities shift and she enters a new phase of her life. I'm not ready to move on from her and I find it impossible to believe I ever will be. Also, I simply don't want to – the only future I want to imagine is seeing her every day for the rest of my life.

Then, I see a vision of myself as a crazy white haired uncle who, because she knows I am alone, she'll force to spend Christmas Day with her and her family as the years progress, someone fun for the day to entertain the troops before I'm packed back in my box again and not seen or heard from until the following year. An act of charity for the holiday season.

"You mean that?" she asks, bringing me out of my morbid imagined Christmas future.

"Every word."

She nods and exhales. "Good."

"When do you leave?"

"I-I don't know. Haven't told Abbott yet."

"You've told Marcus, though."

A tight nod. "Yeah..." A wrinkle appears across her brow.

"What else?"

She says nothing and I hazard a guess from her panic stricken expression. "He asked you to marry him?" Even I'm surprised he's moved that fast. I disliked him already for threatening to take her away from me. Now I hate him for piling more pressure on her. He already has her, why does he feel the need to rush headlong into marriage too? Insecure, much?

"Yeah..." She shakes her head. "I-I haven't agreed," she assures me quickly. But she hasn't said she has turned him down either.

"You're thinking about it," I say. I don't hide my shock.

She flushes and shrugs as she takes a sip of tea. She knows it's a crazy idea. I breathe out. For a moment I hardly recognised the woman I'd known for over a decade.

"Obviously it's too soon for that," she says.

"He's a go-getter, have to give him that," I venture.

There must have been a trace of bitterness in my tone as she tilts her head. "You don't like Marcus?"

"He's a good man." It's a good line too and says nothing of my feelings towards the interloper.

"Yeah, he is," she agrees.

I smile and nod graciously. But I'm sad and now I want her to leave, to allow me to wallow in self pity for a good few hours. Maybe finish Wuthering Heights and move on to Middlemarch while I'm at it.

She makes herself more comfortable at my side instead. She's feeling more relaxed now the subject is settled. She doesn't appear happy, though, merely resigned and I guess she's trying to spare my feelings by not appearing enthusiastic. And I know she'll miss me and that the parting will be bittersweet. Just _bitter_ for me, though. She thumbs through my paperback again as she takes another sip of tea.

"Well, how about we celebrate?" I say with such phony chirpiness she looks at me with concern. I get up from the table and fetch some tumblers and a half open bottle of scotch I've stowed away in the back of a cupboard. I wave it in front of her. "It's not Champagne but will it do? Toast your success?" If she's staying a while I need a drink to get through it.

"Sure," she says. Her tone doesn't sound celebratory in the slightest.

After two measures each we're more at ease with each other again and talk about Wuthering Heights for a few minutes. We discuss our literary tastes further as we drink some more. We've rarely done this, I realise, and am saddened that I've just noticed how little we discuss that isn't related to work, especially lately.

Her cheeks have taken on a rosy glow and I'm tempted to put an arm around her and make a pass. She's looking at me like she wouldn't mind if I did. As I take another sip it's not just heat from the whisky that's warming the blood in my veins. I set the glass down and yawn loudly. It's definitely time she went home.

She yawns in turn and covers her mouth with her hand, yawns an apology. "We should have done this when you first got back," she tells me. She fills up our glasses again with an impish grin.

"What? Got drunk and stayed up talking all night?" I smile. When I hear her giggle the last thing on my mind is sending her home. If this is going to be the last night I spend with her (well, the only night I get to spend with her) then I want to enjoy it to its fullest.

I toast her with a _slainte_ and we clink glasses.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for all the feedback on the first chapter, pleased this little venture was to most people's liking. Here's the conclusion.**

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Chapter 2 - Liftoff

She's leaning against my side two glasses later. I throw caution to the wind and put an arm around her, pull her closer. My self-loathing and caution have departed temporarily with the arrival of smooth amber coursing through my blood. Besides, it's what we both want, the want to feel close before we go our separate ways. We're not good at this, the touchy-feely stuff friendships sometimes have at their epicentre. I've embraced her on exactly five occasions and held her hand twice (and one of those was as part of a pretend séance). She's never instigated physical contact between us and any significant contact on my part in later years was always preceded by a rare moment of honest emotion. Tonight's no different.

 _Love you, Teresa_ rattles through my head like approaching thunder.

I vaguely wonder if I'm taking advantage. I decide not in my slightly less than sober state that's enticing me to fall prey to temptation and follow my heart, not my head. A thought occurs that maybe, for once, I'm following both. Despite her small stature, Teresa Lisbon can more than hold her own where alcohol is concerned. The Irish in her blood? Maybe.

She stiffens a little momentarily then inclines her head against my shoulder. The soft satin of her blouse against my fingers is the best thing I've felt in a very long time. I close my eyes and breathe in and out loudly in utter contentment. If I could freeze time I'd select this second right now.

I love this woman. I'm in love with this woman.

 _Love you, Teresa._

It's not a new alcohol induced revelation, I've known it for quite some time. She's been caring for me in her own determined way since that first day she picked me up from the floor of the CBI with a bloody nose. How the hell will I live without her again? Coming back was supposed to mean I'd never have to endure it twice in a lifetime.

What if I told her how I felt, laid all my cards on the table, allow her to decide where the chips fall? My heart thumps in my chest. I'm both fearful of rejection and perhaps more terrified if my feelings are reciprocated. Christ, I'm a mess and she deserves so much better. At least Pike has his shit together. I have no idea if I ever will. Killing Red John wasn't the solution it was supposed to be. Maybe I'll never be rid of him.

It's better I say nothing and just enjoy the time I have left with her, however short that is.

 _Love you, Teresa._

Neither of us has spoken in seconds as I run my fingers up and down her upper arm. "You're not asleep, are you?" I ask with a smile.

"No," she says quietly. "This is nice," she adds. Her voice is soft and delicate just like the cloth against my fingertips. I really could live in this moment forever.

"Yes, it is." It's the understatement of the century.

"Do you ever miss the CBI?" she asks.

The question is out of left field and brings me back from the brink of Nirvana. "That's a strange thing to ask."

"Do you?"

I nod against the top of her head. "I was thinking about it earlier this evening, in fact."

She draws her head back to look at me and my fingers fall into thin air. I miss touching her immediately. "You were?"

It takes a second to bring me back to reality and escape the near dream world I was just beginning to explore. "Well, I was thinking about my old cup and it...it kinda went on from there."

She bites her lip at the mention of my CBI teacup and I frown, smelling a secret in the air like a sniffer dog.

"Why do you miss it, the CBI I mean?" she says, bringing the conversation back to her initial question, straightening up (almost) and then leaning an elbow on the table. "I'd have thought that you...well, that you would prefer your life now for...well, obvious reasons."

I've speculated on this for quite some time, especially recently. "I prefer parts of it now, naturally. But other parts..."

She nods for me to continue.

I exhale. "But the CBI was special...it was..." I lick my lips that have suddenly gone dry. This is why I don't drink a lot in company, it makes me too honest. The words spill out. "It was where I met you, after all."

I can see tears gather in her eyes immediately. Lisbon is not a crier by nature but my statement has almost sent her over the edge, no doubt also contributed by the consumption of alcohol, tiredness and the decision to leave Austin.

"We had some good times," she says. She laughs and a tear escapes that she bats away immediately. "Despite all the...murders, I mean. And the trouble you caused me."

"You liked the trouble," I tell her with a grin.

"Oh, I did, did I? Really?" she smiles back.

"Of course," I assure her smoothly. "Your life would have been boring otherwise."

I can see her think about disagreeing but then she nods. "You're right," she says softly. God, I want to kiss her.

She shakes her head. "What does it say about us that we miss it when we...well, you especially...went through one of the hardest times of our lives there?"

"That we're both pretty messed up?" I say with a smile. Red John has taken enough from me, he's not about to take this night with Lisbon too by discussing him with her.

She laughs and tops up our glasses again. I lean forward and take a sip, my elbows on the table. I sense her eyes following my every movement. "We really should have done this when you got back," she says again. This time, her voice is mellow and unbelievably sad.

I turn my head and regret is the only thing I can see in her. I nod and my throat is constricted with pain. I barely whisper, "Why the hell didn't we?" If we had done this then would we have gotten back on track to where we were before I left? Would we have been brave enough to take a leap forward before getting stuck in our past behaviours again like we have now?

Two teardrops fall on her cheeks as she shakes her head. "I don't know."

My vision is impaired by moisture too. "Is it too late?" I just get out. I hope I'm conveying with my expression what I can't seem to say in words. Suddenly, I can't let her go without her knowing how I feel, to have her know how deep my feelings run for her.

She blinks quickly and more tears escape. "I don't know," she says again.

As my recall of the English language has deserted me there is only one last course of action left to take. It's like I'm watching myself as I set my glass on the table and bring the fingers of my right hand towards her cheek. I can't believe I'm being this brave. The scotch is a contributing factor unquestionably; I shamefully doubt I'd be this brazen without it.

My fingertips glide over her skin gently. Her breath hitches and her pupils dilate and darken at my touch. The sound of her breath turns my focus to her lips and she licks them so they are the colour of cherries. She's shaking and so am I but I lean forward and her eyelids flutter closed as her mouth parts willingly in anticipation. I'm no longer thinking about what's right or wrong or what this means for us. I'm acting instinctively as I see nothing but black and feel the softness of her lips as they move against mine. I get lost in the sensations as we explore, tentatively at first. She tastes of tea and whisky and purity and everything good in my life.

Every kiss and every touch as she caresses my cheek with her thumb is reigniting fires over my body I thought were dead. I can feel myself coming to life again against her mouth and I drink more of her in, deepening the kisses, allowing my hands to pull her flush to my chest. The angle is difficult with us squashed against the table but she shifts and is all at once straddling my lap. I let out a growl as she rolls her hips. She's devouring me too and I'm gasping for air but can't let go of her lips. She pulls away first with a deep breath and leans her back against the table as we catch our breaths.

"Well, this is new," I say and regret the flippant remark immediately. The blood flow required to work my brain up to a wittier, more moving or more seductive comment has travelled south.

She doesn't appear to mind as she wraps her arms around my neck with a shy smile. It falters slightly. "How drunk are you, though?"

I look down at the (mildly impressive?) bulge in my pants. "Fairly sure not that drunk."

She laughs as she follows my eyes. "I didn't...I didn't mean that. But...good to know," she smirks. "I meant-"

"Will I regret this tomorrow?"

"Today I think you mean."

I can't believe she's correcting me when we're in this position. My pants tighten further. But, well, I do love a heated debate, I remind myself. I kiss her and shake my head instead of replying and I'm still mildly surprised that she's letting me never mind participating in it.

"You?" I ask, my hands wandering to her sides.

"Drunk? A little. Too drunk not to know what I'm doing? No. Regrets? I probably should have them but no, I doubt I will."

We should probably be talking right now, discussing things before we go any further. But all I can think of is how she'll feel in my arms again and how she'll feel naked and under me, on top of me. I can see our minds are in synch.

I pull her against me again and kiss her.

* * *

I wake up and daylight is streaming through the thin cracks in the blinds. The first thing I'm aware of is that I have a slight headache and a dry mouth. The next thing I'm aware of is that my back is cold but my front is scorching. I also have an erection. Lisbon's shapely naked behind and back are tucked up against me. I adjust the throw so it covers my back. Lisbon is a blatant cover hog and I make a mental note to purchase another blanket. I glance over at my beautifully pale sleeping companion and memorise the sight. I smile as a realisation hits me rather belatedly - Lisbon and I are spooning. I've heard of the expression but never imagined I'd ever use it myself. Or that it would make me so inordinately happy to do so. My left hand lies on her belly and I stroke its smooth plane gently so not to wake her, I just need the assurance of her skin to make this moment real. I can still barely believe we made love although the evidence of it lies in front of me and I can still smell the scent of it in the air. I'm lost in memories of our love making for seconds.

Regretfully, I extract myself and press a kiss to her back to use the bathroom and brush my teeth. When I arrive back she's getting dressed and she looks at me in the boxers I've thrown on. Her eyes wander before they arrive at my face. "Hey," she says, buttoning up her jeans. She's nervous.

"Hey yourself," I say in the same vein.

This really is new and both of us don't quite know how to handle it.

"You got water?" she asks.

I nod, pleased to have something to do than just stare at her. I fetch her a bottle from the fridge and she glugs it until it's almost empty. "You need painkillers?" I ask. Shit, maybe she was drunker than I thought she was.

"No. No, I'm good. Just thirsty. Uh..." She looks towards the bathroom.

"Help yourself, there's a spare toothbrush in the cabinet under the sink if you want to use it."

"Thanks." She races past me, barely making eye contact.

* * *

I'm making tea when she arrives back eight minutes and three seconds later. Not that I've been counting. I've taken the time to get dressed though I'm still barefoot.

"Sorry about before," she says as I turn around and hand her a cup of Twinings. She inhales the aroma and nods gratefully. It's the nearest thing I have to coffee.

"It's a little weird," I admit with a small shrug.

"Yeah..." The word comes out in a long breath as we look at each other over the rims of our cups.

I've been thinking since she's been in the bathroom.

She never said she was staying in Austin.

She never said she intended to end things with Pike.

Perhaps the night before was just a way of getting me out of her system – a last hurrah before she gets on with the rest of her real life.

Even if that is the case I need to say something to her. Something I should have said the night before. And I need to do it now before I lose my nerve. I'm so close to losing it if she'd been another minute in that bathroom I might have.

"I...I want you to know something, Lisbon. Before...well, before you leave."

The rim of her cup settles against her mouth, the whites of her eyes widening.

"I want you to know," I continue, and I know my voice is shaking as much as my hand is as I place my cup on the counter beside me with the rattle of the china, "I want you to know that I love you. But I understand your decision. He can offer you many things...things I don't know if I'm ready to offer you right now...so I get it. But..." I make my voice stronger as I watch her look at me with fascination, her cup suddenly beside mine now, "But I love you more than he ever will. It's the only promise I can give you but it's the truth. And...if someday you change your mind and decide to come back or if it isn't working out-"

"Jane?" She's shaking her head and her forehead is furrowed in confusion. "What-what are you talking about?"

Now it's my turn to look perplexed. "Well-"

"You thought I was still going to D.C.?" The merest glimmer of her smile makes my knees almost go weak.

"You're not?"

She sets her expression unwavering. "Do you want this?" She points between us.

I don't hesitate. It's all I want no matter how afraid I am. "Yes."

"Okay, then."

My head might just explode. "Okay?"

She laughs and takes two steps until she wraps her arms around my waist. She doesn't realise she's practically holding me up. "How could you even think I was still going to D.C. after last night?"

"This morning...you were acting like you regretted it. Despite what you said last night."

"Yeah, well, yeah, I did. Kind of."

When I frown she adds, "Not because of what happened between us. God, no. I just felt bad because I hadn't ended things with Marcus first. I really should have."

"Oh," is all I manage to say. I suppose I should feel sorry for the guy. But my grin a second later belies any such sentiment.

"I just called him from the bathroom," she states, shooting me a slight glare of disapproval that I'm still smiling. Nevertheless, her arms do not move from encircling my waist and she's smiling too.

"It's over," she tells me. "It's done."

I blink at the lack of irony in her tone as she says those words.

Now, they are the most romantic ones I've ever heard.

\- THE END -


End file.
